


The Song We Were Singing

by SunGreen70



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1204687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunGreen70/pseuds/SunGreen70
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted to Live Journal for the Whose-a-Thon, July 2011. Prompt: Jeff listens to Chip sing. (Legitimately sing, so not in the context of a game).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Song We Were Singing

“Hey,” Jeff called, bursting into Chip’s room without knocking. “We’re going - oh, sorry,” he added, as Chip held up a finger and resumed his phone conversation. Jeff perched on the bed and glanced idly about the room, a twin to his own across the hall. It was already a mess, with Chip’s suitcase lying opened on the second bed, clothes spilling out as though he’d had to go digging for clean socks. Through the half-opened bathroom door Jeff could see the damp towel from Chip’s shower wadded up on the floor. Jeff shook his head in amusement, thinking of his own suitcases hidden from view behind the closet door and his suits hanging neatly in their garment bags. Unlike Chip, Jeff couldn’t stand clutter.

Chip snapped his cell phone shut and looked up with what Jeff called his billion-watt smile. Jeff ginned back. It was impossible not to. “What’s up?” he asked curiously. It had been a while since he’d seen Chip look this happy – not since he’d separated from his wife last year. Jeff was pleased to see the change in him. And although Chip had almost always looked happy before his marital problems, right now he appeared ready to burst.

“I just set up a show at Shin’s back home.”

Jeff blinked. “A show? But isn’t Shin’s a restaurant?”

Chip shoved himself back in the desk chair. It banged into the small table by the window as he rose from it and bounded to the bed. The mattress bounced alarmingly as Chip plopped down beside Jeff. “A solo show. Just me and a guitar - playing my own stuff.”

Jeff still wasn’t quite following. “Wait - your own stuff? I didn’t know you _had_ your own stuff. Did I even know you play guitar?”

Chip gave him a wry glance. “Um, _yeah_. You yelled at me on the bus the other night because my playing was keeping you awake.”

Jeff had a vague recollection of that. “Wasn’t that Greg?”

“It was _you_. From Greg’s bunk.”

“Oh, yeah. But only because Greg was getting pissy.”

“Anyway…” Chip was eager to return to his story. “I have a gig. I’m playing next Saturday at eight. All original songs - which, yes, I wrote myself. That’s what I was doing when you and your paramour so rudely interrupted me.” Chip got up, ducking out of range as Jeff reached over to sock him. “I’ve been trying to set something up for a while. And now it’s happening.”

“Wow…” Jeff shook his head in amazement. “That’s great, Chip. Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” Chip smiled. “Hey, do you think you can make it to the gig? It’s not that far from you.”

Jeff started to say that of course he’d be there, he wouldn’t miss it - then he remembered. Saturday, May 21st. Dan’s End of the World party. He’d already promised to be there. “Well,” he hedged, “I’d really like to - let me check my calendar and tell you for sure, okay?”

“Sure,” Chip said easily. “Let me know. Anyway…” He beamed his billion-watt smile again. “So where are we going?”

“Oh, right,” Jeff remembered. “We’re going to that Italian place across the street. As soon as you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now.” Chip pocketed his phone and led the way to the door.

******

Jeff tried to catch Greg’s eye. He’d been distant onstage, making minimal eye contact and touching him only when a scene required it. Jeff was all too familiar with these moods of Greg’s, which had been happening more and more often lately. Talking with Ryan as they removed their microphones, Greg glanced in Jeff’s direction. But when Jeff started to speak, Greg looked away as though he didn’t see him. Jeff bit his lip and turned his back to take off his own microphone. He came face to face with Chip, who was shooting Greg a look that should have killed on contact. Jeff felt his cheeks flush, embarrassed at having Chip witness Greg’s snub. But when Chip caught his eye, all he said was, “Want to check out that bar next to the Italian place when we get back?”

Jeff nodded gratefully. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Half an hour later, they sat side by side on barstools, bottles of Coors in front of them. Jeff took a welcome swallow of his, pushing the image of Greg’s indifferent face from his mind. Setting his bottle down, he turned to Chip.

“How long have you been writing songs?”

Chip picked at the label of his own bottle with a fingernail as he replied. “A little while. Maybe a year or two. It was never a big thing, you know, just something I do now and then. I just thought it would be fun to try it out.”

Jeff nodded, studying his friend’s face. It was obviously a bigger deal to him than that, but he seemed to have something else on his mind. Before Jeff could form another question, Chip turned to him with one of his own.

“Has Greg been treating you all right?”

Jeff averted his eyes, embarrassed by the new topic. “What do you mean?”

“He was kind of a prick to you tonight.”

Jeff shrugged self-consciously. “He’s just in a mood.”

“Hmm.” Chip eyed the label that he had succeeded in removing in one piece. “I don’t like seeing him take his moods out on you.”

“He doesn’t. I ignore him when he’s like that. It usually means trouble with Jen. He’ll get over it.”

Chip crumbled the label in his hand. “And then you’ll fuck him again until his next mood strikes? Or until Ryan lets him back in his bed?”

Jeff jerked his head up at Chip’s sharp tone. “Hey, lay off, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

Chip met his eyes, and his expression softened. “Sorry. I just… don’t want you to get hurt.”

Jeff relaxed a little. “I won’t. This thing with Greg isn’t like that. I mean, he’s still married, for one thing, and I don’t think that’s going to change. And we never made any promises. I… accept him on those terms, you know?”

Chip regarded him, uncharacteristically serious. “As long as you’re okay with it.” He laid his hand briefly on Jeff’s knee. “And as long as you promise you’ll end it, if you ever decide you’re _not_ okay with it.”

Jeff dropped his gaze from Chip’s probing eyes. Staring into the mouth of his bottle, he nodded. “I will.”

“Good.”

Jeff cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So… I’m really happy for you, you know. Your own solo gig. Dude, that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

Chip flashed his billion-watt smile again. “Yeah, thanks.” He was trying to sound casual, but it was obviously all he could do to play it cool. Jeff grinned back, affection for Chip swelling inside him. He knew then that he wasn’t going to make it to the party next Saturday. He signaled for the bartender and paid for the next round.

******

Shin’s was packed when Jeff arrived, half an hour before show time. He was lucky to get one of the last available tables. He’d hoped to see Chip before the show, but was afraid he’d lose his seat if he left it. He hadn’t told Chip he was coming, and Chip hadn’t asked again. After Jeff had gotten hold of Dan to make his excuses for missing the party, he’d decided to just show up and surprise him. Well, he’d have to do it after the show.

Jeff sipped at an unfamiliar Korean beer, conscious of stares in his direction. Well, of course the place was filled with _Whose Line_ fans… he’d probably had a hand in that. He’d plugged Chip’s show on his Twitter the day before, wanting to ensure there was a good turn out. He’d even messaged Greg and urged him to do so as well, though he and Greg still weren’t on the best of terms. But Greg had obliged and re-tweeted the details.

Jeff felt oddly closer to Chip lately. They’d been texting and emailing more often since they’d arrived home from the tour, and just two nights ago they’d had a long phone conversation in which they’d talked about Chip’s divorce proceedings, and Jeff’s relationship with Greg, which he had to admit was going steadily downhill. In turn, Chip had talked about Patty, and how he wasn’t in love with her anymore but it felt strange not going home to her after a tour, and he missed the kids terribly.

The lights dimmed, and then there was Chip striding out onto the tiny stage at one end of the restaurant with no introduction or fanfare. Only an ear-splitting chorus of female shrieks heralded his arrival. Jeff grinned with anticipation.

Chip was dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans faded to softness at the knees. He nodded casually to the crowd as he slung his guitar strap over his shoulder. “How ya doing?” Another round of shrieking was his response. Chip grinned and sat on a high stool, guitar on his knee. Without further comment, he strummed a chord and launched into his first song.

Jeff sat back in his chair, staring up at Chip in astonished delight. He’d heard Chip sing before, of course – countless times during improv shows. Most of the time, though, Jeff sang with him, and was too focused on watching for cues to really listen. Even on the occasions when Chip played a singing game with someone else, Jeff’s attention was focused on his comedic ability rather than his musical skill. It was obvious he’d been missing out. Singing in this intimate setting, with only his own guitar as accompaniment, Chip was amazing. His voice was strong, with a rich, smooth tone that effortlessly hit both high and low notes.

But it was more than the exquisite sound of Chip’s voice that made his performance so enthralling. It was the way he infused his songs with emotion. Watching his face, Jeff had the feeling that Chip was reliving the things he’d written about as he sang. He smiled during a song about his kids. He gazed pensively into the distance while singing of a lost love and the emptiness it left behind. It was as though he were revealing a private side of himself – one that Jeff had never seen.

As the set progressed, Jeff was completely in awe. Why the hell wasn’t Chip making records? His voice was incredible. His songs were amazing. And he had an extremely magnetic stage presence. Just watching Chip tell brief anecdotes and interact with his audience, was fascinating. He was personable, charismatic, and charming.

He was, Jeff realized with a sudden shock, sexy.

Jeff was thankful for the darkened restaurant, so no one could see his face.

Chip, _sexy_?

Okay, that was new.

Jeff groped for his beer and realized it was empty. Too flustered to flag down a waiter for another one, he dropped it back to the table with a thud.

_What the hell?_ he thought eloquently.

Chip finished a song and smiled, waiting for the applause to die down. “Thank you so much. This is a song that I just wrote this week.” He grinned as a random female squeal greeted that statement and played an opening riff on his guitar. Shoving his confused thoughts aside for the time being, Jeff focused determinedly on Chip’s performance. Eyes half closed, he relaxed and let the music wash over him.

_You say you accept him on his terms_   
_But I see the pain behind your eyes_   
_You say you’ve made no promises_   
_Still he wounds you with his lies_

Jeff sat up abruptly. _Accept him on his terms… made no promises…_ With an odd feeling of déjà vu, he remembered his conversation with Chip over beers less than a week ago. Was Chip singing about _him_? He stared at the stage in bewilderment. And then the next lyrics that registered on Jeff’s consciousness sent his heart rate skyrocketing.

_So I’ll go on denying what’s in my heart_   
_The love I’m too scared to embrace_   
_I’ll pray for the strength to conquer my fear_   
_And let your love be my saving grace._

Enthusiastic applause and the ubiquitous shrieking met the end of the song. Chip stood up and smiled. “Thanks so much for coming. Have a great night!” He left the stage to still more deafening acclaim.

The noise tapered off and people began leaving the restaurant as Jeff sat rooted in his chair.

_Did that just happen? What the fuck is going on?_

He remained frozen in place until he became aware of calculating looks being cast in his direction by several female audience members. A few began moving towards his table, and he realized he would be accosted if he didn’t get out of there.

Throwing an apologetic smile to the crestfallen young women who were steadily gaining on him, Jeff got up and moved against the crowd towards the kitchen. There he spent several minutes convincing first a puzzled cook, then the restaurant manager that yes, he actually knew Chip Esten personally; and no, he was not an obsessed fan. The manager finally sent an employee back to Chip’s dressing room to verify his story.

A few minutes later, Jeff was granted entry to a long, bare hallway off the kitchen. He wandered around until he spotted a partially closed door. He gave a tentative knock; a moment later, Chip appeared.

“Hey, Jeff!” Chip greeted him heartily. He swung the door open and Jeff stepped inside. “Dressing room” was far too grand a description for this oversized closet. The space was small and dim, illuminated by a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Three wobbly-legged chairs surrounded a scarred wooden table. A few empty packing crates and a mirror propped on the table top were the only other furnishings. And the air in here was cold – Jeff instinctively wrapped his arms around his midsection.

“I know,” Chip sympathized. “I think this used to be a meat freezer.”

Jeff laughed, and Chip gave him his billion-watt smile before an awkward silence descended.

“So. You came,” Chip said after a moment.

Jeff nodded. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t think you were going to.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

Chip gave a small chuckle. “Well, you did that.”

Silence again. Chip fiddled with the clasps on his guitar case, which was propped against the table. Then he looked back at Jeff, his expression pained but resigned. “Am I going to be the one to acknowledge the two-ton elephant in the room, or do you want to?”

Jeff squirmed with embarrassment, but he was relieved that Chip had brought it up. They did need to talk. Exhaling slowly, he dropped into one of the wobbly chairs. After a brief hesitation, Chip followed suit.

“That was a really good song,” Jeff said, tracing a deep scratch in the tabletop with his fingernail. “Really. It was…amazing.”

“Which one?” Jeff glanced up. “The one about… me?” he ventured. “At least I thought…”

Chip smiled sheepishly. “I meant, which one about you?”

“They were _all_ about me?”

Chip rolled his eyes, looking like his usual self. “Uh, no, Narcissus, not all of them. But… a couple, yeah. The one about your eyes…” He hummed a few bars of a song Jeff instantly recognized from the performance.

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head incredulously. “I thought that was about Patty. Or some other woman…” He looked at Chip, at a loss. “I didn’t even know you were gay,” he blurted finally.

Chip looked away, but not before Jeff saw him wince slightly.

“Yeah, well…” Chip said. “I guess the jury is still out on that one.” He returned his gaze to Jeff. “I mean, I’ve had thoughts now and then… who doesn’t, right? But I’ve only ever… I mean… you’re the first…” He rose abruptly, pushing his chair back with a squeal of wooden legs on linoleum floor. He moved away, but he couldn’t go very far in the cramped room. His escape was thwarted by a stack of empty crates.

“I don’t know, Jeff,” he said finally. Jeff stared helplessly at his back, tongue-tied. Chip was uncharacteristically still. His shoulders radiated tension. “I never thought I was into guys. But you…” Chip ran a hand through his hair, and when he turned around, it was standing up in unruly tufts. Jeff tried to squelch the uncomfortable thought that he looked cute. “I’d have these feelings… and… but you and Greg… and I _hate_ the way he uses you, and I’d keep thinking I could be so much better to you…” Chip trailed off, shaking his head as though trying to clear it. He moved to stand behind a chair, looking over Jeff’s head instead of at him. He cleared his throat. “Listen,” he said, “Before I humiliate myself further, why don’t you say something?”

“Um… like what?” Jeff asked dumbly.

Chip’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. _Something_. Tell me to fuck off, tell me you and Greg are soul mates, tell me the thought of me makes you sick, tell me never to sing those songs again. Something!” Chip slumped down with his elbows on the back of the chair and his forehead resting on clenched fists.

Jeff tried to sort through the outpouring of words. He finally latched on to the last bit. “I don’t want you to stop singing those songs,” he said.

Chip snorted, his head still down. “But I can go ahead and fuck off, because you and Greg are soul mates and I make you sick.” He was only half joking.

“No.” The word came out softly. When he didn’t continue, Chip lifted his head slightly and regarded Jeff mutely, waiting for more. Jeff exhaled slowly, trying to find the right words.

“I don’t want you to stop singing those songs,” he said again, “because… because they’re fucking amazing, okay? I can’t even wrap my mind around the fact that you wrote songs about me. Christ, Chip, that’s… no one ever…” He shook his head. There weren’t any words to describe how he felt about that. He jumped to the next topic. “And Greg… well, that’s pretty much over. I think you already know, he’s nothing close to my soul mate.” He smirked a little. “As you so eloquently put it in song.”

A tiny smile tugged at Chip’s mouth, but he still said nothing.

Jeff continued. “And you damn well _better_ know you don’t make me sick; the way you feel doesn’t make me sick, and I wouldn’t tell you to fuck off if even if I didn’t…” he trailed off.

_Didn’t what?_ The question showed plainly on Chip’s face as if it were written there, though he still didn’t speak. There was no point in being coy now, Jeff acknowledged wryly.

“I wouldn’t tell you to fuck off even if I didn’t think that maybe I have some feelings too.”

Chip lifted his head the rest of the way. They regarded each other in silence for a moment. Jeff could feel his heart thudding in his chest. Then Chip slowly pulled out the chair he was leaning on and sat down on the other side of the table.

“Okay,” he said. “So… what happens now?”

Jeff’s head was spinning. Overwhelmed, he grasped at his usual method of dealing with an awkward or intimidating situation. “Well, the first thing you have to do is get a butt plug. And maybe a leather harness. I saw a nice one the other day. It had rhinestones.”

Chip’s head snapped up so fast he nearly tipped over backwards in his chair. He recovered quickly, and a very close facsimile of his billion watt smile, tempered slightly by nervousness, spread across his face.

“God, you’re an asshole.”

Jeff’s answering smile was nearly as big and bright, and he felt a familiar surge of affection for Chip. Relaxing a little, he grew serious again.

“Well, we have to think about it some more, I guess. Both of us. And talk about it, too, before anything actually… happens.”

The relief on Chip’s face was almost comical. Jeff wondered if he’d thought he would be expected to climb between the sheets with Jeff later that same night. Which come to think of it, was appealing to him more and more as he watched Chip’s silly, relieved… adorable face… He forcibly shoved the image from his mind.

“Look, we don’t have time to discuss it now. We need to get out of here, and as soon as we do, you’re going to be swarmed by fans.”

Chip appeared startled, as though he’d forgotten where they were and why. “Oh. Right.”

“My car’s in the lot across the street,” Jeff continued. “We’ll find someplace to get a beer afterward.” He looked at Chip’s face, still registering a jumble of emotions, and added gently, “We’ll figure it out, Chip.”

Chip’s voice was barely audible. “Okay.” When he looked up, they smiled at each other, somewhat shyly, then simultaneously shoved back their chairs and got up. Standing at their full height in the cramped quarters, they came face to face with only inches separating them. Jeff’s breath caught in his throat and he felt heat rising in his face - not to mention a few other places. He started to step back; then realized that Chip hadn’t moved. He was rooted in place, staring into Jeff’s eyes with an expression of confusion, fear, and – Jeff was positive of this – desire.

Slowly, Jeff licked his lips. Never taking his eyes off of Chip’s, he tentatively leaned forward. He hesitated for just a second longer, giving Chip an opportunity to back down. But he didn’t.

Chip’s mouth was warm against his; his lips a little chapped. He didn’t quite return the kiss, but he didn’t resist it either. Jeff realized Chip was holding his breath, and though he could have happily gone on kissing him for the foreseeable future, after just a second or two he ended it.

Avoiding Jeff’s eyes, Chip turned away slightly. Jeff saw him swallow hard.

“You okay?”

Chip nodded, still not looking at him. “I just need a minute.”

Jeff nodded too, though Chip couldn’t see, and surreptitiously reached down to adjust his fly. He could use a minute himself.

Silence stretched between them and Jeff began to feel uncomfortable. Chip turned back suddenly. His billion-watt smile was back in place. But it didn’t hide the conflict in his eyes.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Jeff blinked in confusion. “Chip…”

“Jeff, I need more time,” Chip said, his voice pleading. “This is… it’s huge for me. I can’t… make any decisions now. Okay?”

Jeff nodded slowly. He could understand that. It was huge for Chip. Come to think of it, it was pretty huge for him too. Better that Chip gave it some more serious thought, and made sure he was really ready. And Jeff had a few decisions to make too, though he knew in his heart that he’d made most of them already. But Chip would need more time.

“It’s okay,” he told Chip. “We happen to have time. All the time in the world.” Relief washed over Chip’s features, clearing away most of the tension in his face. The silly, adorable face that Jeff had known and loved for so long. He wanted to reach out and touch it. Instead, he picked up Chip’s guitar case to carry it out for him.

As they left the dressing room, Jeff thought of something - something non-negotiable. “I do want to ask one thing of you, though,” he told Chip as they navigated the dim hallway toward the exit. “You don’t have to do it now – but soon.”

Chip looked wary. “What’s that?”

Jeff allowed himself to take Chip’s hand, squeezing it briefly and then letting it go.

“I want you to sing for me.”


End file.
